


A Reason to Survive

by charleythechameleon



Series: The Last Hope [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 4x13 au, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Baby Fic, F/M, The plot depends on how much jroth pisses me off this season, Unplanned Pregnancy, clarke centric, i wrote a tumblr post then spitballed, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleythechameleon/pseuds/charleythechameleon
Summary: Clarke attributes her survival to the tiny thing blooming in her stomach.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of continuation of the events of 'Simplicity'. Mainly an extension of my [tumblr post](http://politicalprocrastinator.tumblr.com/post/161053931766/anyone-else-experience-those-10-seconds-of) because my mind ran away with itself.

Clarke attributes her survival to the tiny thing blooming in her stomach.

She did not know, of course, when she collapsed on the floor of Becca’s lab, body consumed in praimfaya. That was the obvious cause of her vomiting. The fact it continued for a month after her skin cleared was not so easily explained. Nor was the fact she grew heavier despite living on less than 500 calories a day. When she passed the three month mark and felt the bump forming she gave up on denial.

The thing’s existence could be attributed to her last moment of hope. Small moments between herself and Bellamy that led to an encounter in Arkadia. The list just finished and stowed beneath her desk, Clarke allowed herself, for just a second, to contemplate life instead of death.

At first, Clarke chided herself for being so irresponsible. The last man was Finn, and since then her implant had been damaged in a million different ways. Now, she was faced with being the mother of the last human ever born on earth.

But, she had faced tougher stakes. At least, that’s what she told the radio. The static response terrified her at first. After a while it became comforting to have anything to talk to, sans the curve of her stomach. She truly realised what she had gotten into when she felt the first kick. She hurriedly ran over to the radio and found the words tumbling out of her mouth at the same rate of her tears.

“She’s alive Bellamy. I can feel her, she’s _alive_.”

The receiver fell to the ground as she buried her head in her arms and sobbed. It was the first time she had cried properly since their hug on the day praimfaya hit. The memory only made the tears sting harder.

On the day she was born, Clarke knew she was the reason for her survival. The tiny nightblood child was born on New Years Day 2151. She had blonde hair, brown eyes and freckles. Clarke cradles her close to her chest and thinks that even if she had a choice, she could want her baby to be the only person left on earth with her.

That thought alone keeps her alive through the 2199 days. When a ship finally comes down on the last spot of green, Clarke knows that she will destroy the last of humanity to save her daughter.


	2. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke considers some crucial facets of her child's identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always intended to update this but exams got in the way. Now, I am free and already bored.

She left 52 messages about names. It was the first thought that passed through Clarke’s mind after she realised Bellamy could not hear her.

She told him she considered Lexa. The idea that her spirit lived on through the child’s nightblood comforted her. But there was an essential difference between her love for Lexa and for Bellamy. To give this child her name felt like betraying an intimacy that defined her in another life. Clarke had moved past comparisons a long time ago.

The second choice was Abby. But that also felt wrong while she did not know if she had survived. Jake and Wells also felt incorrect. She felt those names were reserved for losses she still could not handle. Did that make sense? She asked the receiver’s blank response.

It felt unacceptable to call her Aurora when he did not reply. But she also appreciated the magic to the name. Wasn’t there a phenomenon of lights on earth with that name once? She read books from long ago that spoke of their celestial abilities. If only they knew how the sky above could get just as dank and miserable as the ground they stood on.

Instead, she relegated it a middle name. Clarke supposed that if- _when_ Bellamy came down he could change it. Sky, for a first name. She realised it the night she spoke to the dead comm until the sun died and the stars were a perfect silver against the black.

The baby had tiny fingers. That was probably not the first thing she should have noticed, but Clarke was mesmerised by how small and fragile this creature seemed.

When she cried for the first time, Clarke seized up, preparing to fight attackers on instinct. It was impossible, of course. They were the last people on earth. That would not change simply because a child screamed.

The biggest change Clarke noticed about this new world was the boredom. It was the sort of mind-numbing silence she had not experienced since solitary confinement. That was half the reason she spent the energy collecting and assembling the comms system inside the rover. She would never have the engineering skills of Monty or Raven but she had five years to figure it out at least.

These rambling thoughts became the majority contents of her third message. The first two were sentimental, heart-breaking pieces about her condition that she had practised a thousand times. By the third time, she knew he would not answer because she felt the child kick. As a doctor, Clarke rationally explained the moment as a mere symbol her baby was developing. But, the other side of her felt like it was a sign she should give up, and fare it on her own.

When she realised the baby had his eyes she cursed the lack of pencils on this tiny cluster of earth. She had drawn him once, while sleeping, when his face had half the scars it now possessed. It had been lost somewhere, among the masses. Maybe Octavia had found it in the bunker. Maybe.

Clarke recounted all these things into the message she left the day Sky was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at names. And linear narratives, apparently.  
> I mainly hang out on [tumblr](http://politicalprocrastinator.tumblr.com/)


	3. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke recounts how she found herself in this situation as she realises she cannot protect her daughter any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, I got stuck in Scotland with no wifi and then my laptop deleted office in a 'system update'?!

It happened twice. Clarke ignored them both.

The first was simple. An end of the world fuck. A pastime commonly indulged among ark citizens.

The second was self-indulgence. For god’s sake, the bed on the island was just _too_ perfect not to be used.

Though she was always rational, Clarke found her guts twisting when he moved the hair from her face. When he crashed the fucking car, she knew he felt the same. By then there was no time to think about it, of course. There never was.

With Sky, there was nothing but time. She laid her in the sunlight while she fashioned a cradle out of the wood that had not become ash. The child giggled at the world around her. She made Clarke smile, then laugh, properly grinning at the flailing infant and her pure joy at the benign.

When the ship came down, it was the first time Clarke had felt properly scared since she was born. It was different from the child’s meagre attempts to crawl across the broken land, and Clarke felt her heart thud faster with every movement. She was not terrified until a dart hit her daughter’s throat.

*

The next thing she remembered was waking up with her cheek pressed against a cold grate in the floor. It was freezing. The type of cold she hadn’t experienced since primfaya hit. Her limbs were numb. She almost felt like a broken puppet, as her joints would not move when she did. Scum filled her mouth and dirt covered her fingers. Clarke coughed, her whole body shaking as dregs of bile splattered onto the floor.

She inhaled, and tried to quiet the disruption her body caused. Blinking, she scanned the room. It was stout, clean and grey, with a sign hanging above the tiny hatch in the doorway.

_The contents of this cell are the property of the Eligius Corporation_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this, maybe consider following me on [tumblr](http://politicalprocrastinator.tumblr.com/)


	4. The Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke awakes and discovers her circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi guys, long time no see!  
> Basically what happened was I had to do my a levels which led to me going to uni which led to another rather crushing mental breakdown. I had decided this fic was on hold until I inevitably wanted to write it again with the new series. But hey, new year, new me. However, I left my outlining notes at home and I currently live on the other side of the country so the process might be tricky.

It was a cage. There was no pleasant way of describing the four grey, grimy rusted walls.

The grating was laced together in the same pattern as the floor, with inch wide diamonds stitched beside one another. It could not have been more that two square feet, since Clarke could lie down, but only leaving a few inches between her toes and the nearest corner.

They had stripped her boots and coat. All she had left was her vest and jeans and it was freezing.

She must be on the lower decks, Clarke thought, as she sniffled and surveyed, rubbing her hands against the goosebumps prickling onto her skin. There were no windows, only pipes sputtering out bursts of hot air. No doors either. The cage she was locked in had no door, only a lock clasped around one corner. A pen, Clarke decided. They were keeping her like an animal.

A few other cages were hidden behind a wooden crater. How old was this place? She wondered. Nobody had wooden boxes on earth, not for hundreds of years. And where did this ship come from? Clarke pushed against the feeble walls. It rattled deliciously.

“LET ME OUT!” she screamed. It was a feeble gesture, she knew that much. But it wasn’t meant to convince her prisoners. It was a desperate plea to Sky, hoping that she was hidden in one of those cells.

There was no reply. Her words just echoed off the chamber. The thing must have gone on for miles.

“LET ME OUT!” Clarke tried again.

“PLEASE, SOMEBODY.” The silence pervaded.

Clarke sighed. There was no way that Sky could hear her. Clarke thought back to when she was little and learning how to speak. Clarke kept trying to teach her how to scream for help. Every time the baby failed to get the word out, instead politely requesting a “halp”, Clarke’s eyes darkened. It was so cute the way Sky’s tiny cheeks curled up as she spat out a word, her dimples becoming ever more prominent as she giggled because her mother would stick her tongue out and say “No silly. Try it again, like we practiced.”

That was the nice part, of course. Its partner was the cold sweat that forced Clarke awake at three in the morning, every morning, arms clasped around this tiny person. Sky squirmed and cried when she was little, but one night, when she was barely three years old, she patted Clarke’s arm instead.

“Don’t worry.”

The words came out perfectly. Clarke tried to hide her tears as she kissed her tiny curls.

“I’ll try not to, sweetheart.” She replied and tried to drag her child’s body even closer, although it was impossible.

“Clarke?” Her reprieve was stolen.

“Clarke?” The voice was louder now, echoing from the farthest corner of the chamber.

“Monty?” Clarke replied, breathless.

There was a silence. He too, must have been contemplating whether it was safe to speak.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Warmth rushed into Clarke's body. He was alive. At least one of them was alive.

If she was honest, in that moment she did not really think of Monty. She worried for all of them. Well, not all of them.

“Are the others with you? Is Bellamy with you?” she shouted back. It occurred to her a second after the words escaped her lips that they may not be safe. For all she knew, these people found Monty alone, and the others escaped. She could be signing their death warrant.

“There's no one here.” Monty replied. “They were taken to processing a few months back.”

Processing.

Visions of mount weather crept into her brain.

“And what about the kid? I had a child with me a little girl.” There was a brief silence. Monty must have realised.

“They took her away too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was stressful to write considering this fic lowkey blew up and I was a bit scared anything I added would let down the original story. I stopped writing for so long I forgot how my fingers worked, you know?
> 
> Anyhow the usual:  
> Tumblr: @politicalprocrastinator.tumblr.com   
> Youtube: @charleythechameleon


	5. The Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude in which Clarke considers her history and future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, she's not dead. She's just devoid of inspiration if the show is not gracing our screens. But she has some vague ideas for a plot line, so be patient with her.

“I remember shadowing my mother in the sickbay. Whenever pregnant women came by, it was paramount they were healthy, so my mom would change their rations to make sure the foetus got all the nutrition it needed. I keep thinking about everything I learnt there. It’s really the last of my concerns, worrying if I’m feeding the baby correctly, when I should be grateful that I’m feeding it at all, but I keep picturing her in that doctor’s coat ordering me what I should eat to keep it healthy. At least it’s not algae, am I right?”

  
Clarke turned off the radio. All was quiet in the last spot of green. She could stretch back and rub her stomach, self indulgently think about how her skin glowed in the natural light. She could sketch by the stream, them stick her toes in and let the cold soothe her swollen ankles. Most importantly, she had mastered the art of spearing fish and cooking them over a bonfire. It was almost peaceful.

  
The first message Clarke left when she found Eden was not so pleasant.

  
“I thought I had become immune to the smell of rotting flesh, but the kid makes me vomit every time I find a new body. She’s young, I suppose. I can’t help but feel disrespectful when I come across these people, lying dead in their homes and all I can feel is sick.” She released her grip on the radio and composed herself for a moment. “Especially when I know it’s my fault. I know there’s not point blaming myself now, but I can’t help flashing back to when we pulled that lever.”

  
“There was a child out front, just… marinating. Blonde hair. I wonder if our child will look like that… just so small. I know she will be small, that’s just common sense, but I can’t bear to think of her ever being that defenceless. I imagine that’s how your mom felt when she was pregnant with Octavia. I don’t know how she could stand it.”

  
*

  
At present, Clarke found herself bashing against the lock in the vague hope that it would give.

  
“There’s no point in telling you that’s not going to work, is there?” Monty asked. Clarke glanced at the direction of his voice but did not answer.

  
In the half hour that had transpired between them, Monty still had not broached the question of her survival. Clarke supposed she had been arrogant to assume there would be some euphoric welcoming. Escape did not necessary mean salvation; survival did not mean living – she should know that better than anyone.

  
“So, I should just give up trying?” she replied. He was silent. Clarke dropped back to the ground. “I thought my fight was over.” Another pause stretched out between them.

  
“I think we all did. But I don’t think life works like that. Maybe Jasper was onto something.” Monty said. Clarke smiled, not because she was happy, but just because of the familiarity of the words, and the fact that as long as Sky was alive, she would never feel that way again.

  
“I need to find Sky. The fight’s not over until she’s safe.”

  
*

  
Less than a hundred yards away, the commander of the Eligius stood before another cage. This one contained the impossibility that she needed to save her people. A tiny, round-faced little girl with blonde hair and freckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://politicalprocrastinator.tumblr.com) cos I like the attention (and I take prompts ;))  
> Also, as a gift for sticking with this story despite my silence I will post a second Bellarke story, a fluffy one shot, later this week.


End file.
